Forever & Always
by yuu honda
Summary: Fate finds it amusing to twist lives. It forced them to meet and break apart in pieces. They never meant it to happen. It hurts badly because one of them has to make a choice in the end even if it means to close his heart forever. US/UK REWRITTEN
1. Prologue

**Title** : Forever & Always

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_Full Summary: Fate finds it amusing to twist lives. It forced them to meet and break apart in pieces. Feelings were sacrificed for love. Feelings were sacrificed for souls. They never meant it to happen. They don't want to sacrifice anything; even their own feelings despite how it was an obligation. It hurts badly because one of them has to make a choice in the end even if it means to close his heart forever._

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**Main pair(s)** : US/UK [Alfred/Arthur]

**Minor pair(s)** : France/Canada [Francis/Matthew], Germany/Italy [Ludwig/Feliciano], Spain/Romano [Antonio/Lovino], Russia/China [Ivan/Yao], Greece/Japan [Heracles/Kiku]

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**Prologue**

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**

The soft morning breeze caressed his sandy hair softly, ruffling a few strands of hair. He quietly muttered a curse and stretched himself. This was not the kind of weather in which the writer usually woke up early. Arthur Kirkland would normally awaken around ten or if he had decided to sleep in; twelve.

The sky was tinged a dim grey; the golden sun not yet visible. The author sighed in a depressed manner and proceeded to lean on the pearl window, staring upwards. Arthur hated this kind of weather because it reminded him of his dreary past. Ugly grey lines began to form into jumbled shapes and patterns, meaning that he was unable to create a clear view of the sky. He remembered being a young boy; staring at the same grey sky, only bathed in blood.

His past didn't start very well. Arthur was raised by a single mother who was first a widow and then the wife of an abusive husband. Every minute of his childhood was a nightmare. Every time he went home he would find his mother forced into a violent bondage session of love making. When he went home while his mother was away he'd find himself accumulating a multitude of burns and bruises on his arms and legs as a result of being whipped with belts. He had once tried to stop the abusive bastard—Arthur's preferred name for him—from hurting his already bleeding mother. However, he had ended up being thrown into a wall. All he could do was whimper slightly and crawl away.

The Briton had become sick of the pains that were caused by the bastard. He'd had enough of his mother's painful moans and screams every time he passed a room. Thankfully, it all ended in a night.

The Englishman could still feel the stinging heat of the fire, the stickiness of the wet crimson liquid on his cheeks, and he could still picture the view of his burnt house at night. His blank green orbs stared at the closed white gothic door, whilst his mother lay on the floor and pushed him outside.

Arthur shivered at the memory. His mother's hand was absolutely freezing when it touched his shoulder. The touch pierced through his skin like knives and the feeling crept through all his veins like fire. The feeling wasn't pleasant. In fact, it scared him to death.

Shrugging off the memory, Arthur walked away from the window and headed towards the bathroom. He should be getting ready to go to the company now. They're probably waiting for his next manuscript.

* * *

Michelle ran through the navy blue cubicles, looking for Estevan. Said man was sleeping on his personified desk with stacks of manuscripts. The Seychellois girl shook her head and chuckled. Every time she arrived at the cubicle, she'd find either a sleeping person or spilled coffee on the desk. Michelle tip-toed towards the Cuban with a big, evil smirk lacing her lips. In a swift movement she placed her tiny hands on Estevan's shoulder with great force, startling the Cuban and causing him to curse in his native tongue.

The little girl laughed as she placed a cup of coffee on the mahogany desk, while the older male gave her an exhausted glare. "Michelle!" The Seychellois girl giggled, forming a peace sign with her fingers. "How many times have I told you about your wakeup call?" The Cuban pointed his index finger towards the younger woman and said woman only giggled louder in response.

"Okay, okay," Estevan huffed, scratching his messy auburn hair. The manuscript reader shuffled through his stacks of manuscripts to find the piece of writing that he read half an hour ago. "Sorry about the wakeup call, Estevan. But you know, Liz won't be happy if she gets down here and sees you slacking off. Or worse," Michelle said in an almost threatening tone. "She could fire you."

She left the Cuban's cubicle with a triumphant smile and skipped towards the other cubicles, leaving the tan male to arrange his working space in panic. Michelle skimmed the list with her fellow employees' name on it and ticked the box next to the Cuban's name. The hyperactive organizer strolled hurriedly towards the back and returned with a tray of coffee. She visited Eduard and Raivis' cubicle where both were checking any typos made by the editors, Michelle gave each of them a cup of coffee and waved as she left, not forgetting to tick their names on her list.

Next, she had Vash and Lily's cubicle. The Swiss was quite protective of his sister and he wouldn't let anyone touch her. Most people would say that he had a brother complex, but were careful not to say it near or around him; you could endanger your own life. The Seychellois gave the Liechtensteinerin a rigid smile because of the glares that were pointed to her back by Vash. She waved both a quick goodbye and ticked both Vash's and Lily's box.

Michelle grinned broadly in relief upon reaching Berwald's and Tino's cubicle. The Finn stood up to greet her and took two cups of coffee from her tray and arranged the cups on their desk. The Seychellois noted their small conversation about a certain artist whose name wasn't familiar in her ears. She guessed that it was probably a random person they found in deviantART. Tino seemed to be excited at the mention of the name and quickly rummaged in their small cubicle for a telephone book. Michelle spotted the telephone book and gave it to the Finn. Tino muttered thanks as she waved and left the cubicle.

The Seychellois didn't step into Sadiq and Gupta's cubicle, afraid of Sadiq who was throwing manuscripts everywhere and stomping on them. When Michelle questioned, the Egyptian only mouthed, "Newbies. As usual." So she nodded in agreement and carefully passed them cups of coffee. Three to be exact; in case the Turk broke one of them.

Művészet és Irodalom was a popular publishing and printing company. Michelle was quite proud to be working there. The company was built during September 1945, right when the World War II had ended. Its most successful days were back in January 2000 where popular books were printed and the company raised its name through newspapers. The little girl didn't quite recall who the company's previous directors were because most of them used pen names or remained anonymous.

Today, Művészet és Irodalom was led by a Hungarian woman christened as Elizaveta Hérderváry with Roderich Edelstein as her vice-director. However, the company also had hired Gilbert Weillschmidt as the assistant. Michelle had to say that due to the fact that Gilbert was well known for his indolent attitude, she was surprised that Liz trusted him with the position. However, this no longer surprised her to the extent it once did. It was how the Prussian changed into a more responsible idiot—as Roderich preferred to call him—and because of this; the company was not yet bankrupt. The Seychellois chuckled as the sounds of thumping were heard from above.

'_Nope. I'll never regret my decision to come to the city, mother. Because I've met so many amazing people.'_

_

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_

He yawned and stretched himself on the bed, then proceeded to curl again under the blanket. The weather was not supporting his theory of a bright day. The sky was gloomy and tinted an ugly grey. Alfred F. Jones always hated this kind of day. Only a small amount of sunlight could be seen behind the chunk of horrible grey clouds which dissipated into nothing. The American disliked nothingness, not that he disliked simplicity, he just doesn't like it whenever he found something or a location that had no meaning in it. A dim park, for instance. No children, no laughter; it felt like the vivid colors were grey, old. It wasn't alive.

The digital artist remained under the warm blanket until a shrill ring echoed throughout his ears, blocking his attempt to stay asleep for the day. He grunted in annoyance, brows meeting in the middle. Swiftly he took his red phone and flipped the tab. The neon green screen showed a notification of a new e-mail sent by an unknown address. Alfred pressed the middle button and read the mail.

_Hello. _

_Nice meeting you, AwesomeHero50. My name's Hanatamago (which is of course, a pen name). I'm writing on behalf of, Művészet és Irodalom. The name is familiar, yes? I work there as an editor. I've sent you this e-mail for an important business proposition._

_I've browsed through your gallery at deviantART, and I have to say, those art skills of yours are just excellent! I'm absolutely impressed and because you've proven yourself in front of a worldwide audience, I'm offering you a job as an illustrator at our company. Would you like that?_

_If you're interested, please contact this e-mail. _

The American male blinked a few times, trying to re-read the mail again. If his eyes were working correctly, the Hanatamago editor guy was offering him a job opportunity as a digital artist. He rarely worked as an artist; most people would need him for photography most of the time. His last job as an artist was a few months ago when an agency asked him to make a cover for their next magazine.

He shrugged under the blanket, smiling excitedly before deciding to write the replying email.

_Hello to you too! :D_

_Nice meeting you too, Hanatamago! And yeah! Of course I know! That company is totally famous, man! You work there? Lucky guy! _

_Thanks for the compliment too, dude. I'm glad that you like my deviations. It took a lot of years to practice that y'know! A job? As an illustrator? I'll take it! Send me the details and I'll definitely do it! Thank you for the opportunity, Hanatamago! _

Alfred smiled broadly. His sapphire orbs glistened, his broad smile turned into a goofy grin and his cheeks pinked slightly due to the eagerness of doing the job. Deep inside, he knew that it could be a prank, but he had seen the user name 'Hanatamago' as few times when he was looking through his flooded inbox of activities and comments. Unless this 'Hanatamago' was different from the other 'Hanatamago' in dA, he could consider the mail as a prank.

He chose to ignore it and he eventually sent the replying email. There's no harm in taking risks, right?

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_A/N: This is a **beta-ed** chapter by xxMegaUnknown :) Hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter! :D Thank you xxMegaUnknown for beta-ing this story! :) Please **review**! :D It'll definitely make me and xxMegaUnknown very glad! ;)_


	2. Encounter

**Title **: Forever & Always

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**Main pair(s)** : US/UK [Alfred/Arthur]

**Minor pair(s)** : France/Canada [Francis/Matthew], Germany/Italy [Ludwig/Feliciano], Spain/Romano [Antonio/Lovino], Russia/China [Ivan/Yao], Greece/Japan [Heracles/Kiku]

* * *

**Encounter**

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**

Well. This was quite disturbing.

There were too many piles of things! He couldn't bring all of them. His brows met in the middle of his forehead, his long fingers found its way to his golden tinted hair and ruffled the hair harshly. One strand of hair stayed stationary, seemingly defying gravity.

Alfred sighed again. He had five boxes in front of him; all of which were important. The American kept his gadgets such as laptop, flash drives, empty and old CDs and DVDs, his tablet, his computer software, and his iPad in the first box. The second one was filled with lots of design and photography magazines and some old 70s and 80s magazine that he got from the antique bookstore down the street. He gazed at the next box; it was a collection of his music. He collected rock & roll, instrumental music, pop, classic, and—much to his chagrin—some old music back in the 70s and 80s. He liked keeping old music because it reminded him of his parents back when they were still in America; plus the covers were one of his sources of inspiration.

The fourth box contained gifts from his watchers in dA. He also had a few posters of amazing deviations that he had found, a camera bag from one of his watchers; Lupina, a gothic themed calendar from Mizu89, meago's art book from the artist herself, a few other art books and illustrations collection, and some shirts he got from dA. He ruffled his golden strands, pulling some of it, and groaned in annoyance. The fifth—being the last—contained his scrapbooks and old photos of his family, friends, and himself back when he was a toddler. It was also filled with his photographs and photo books. The blond male wanted to publish the book, but resisted the urge. He promised his mother to stay hidden in the society; to just be a normal photographer and illustrator.

Alfred took a glance at the clock on his wall. It was forty-five past twelve in the afternoon. He raised his brow, as if he was forgetting something he should've done.

"Damn!" he hissed, quickly grabbing his bomber jacket and shoes. "I forgot about the interview!" The American male ran—or rather leapt—down the stairs, not forgetting to say goodbye to the old lady at the ground floor who owned the place, clambered onto his motorcycle and left a trail of grey puffy smoke as he rode down the street.

Living in England wasn't really that horrible. Of course the weather was sometimes a bother to him when he was in a hurry to reach his workplace, but except that, everything was absolutely nice.

He finally arrived at the headquarter of the company. The place was absolutely huge and sophisticated. The main building which was the tallest was covered with glassed windows that mirrored the view of the sky; in the middle were their logo and a large classic clock, tinted in bright tawny colour. There were another buildings too, but a little smaller than the first. The second building was on the right with the same design as the main building but a little smaller and it had no logo in the center. The third building was on the left side also with the same design like the second. The front yard was quite beautiful; Alfred adored the pristine colour of their fountain, the style was classy and medieval, adding this old, traditional look which was quite a fitting aura for a publishing company.

The American blond was strolling towards the main entrance when he spotted another figure walking out from the automatic glass door.

Their eyes met; deep sapphire orbs met vast emerald orbs. Both were stuck in their own world. Alfred felt his head spinning a little and his stomach twisted in a weird way. Despite his effort to tear the gaze, he couldn't. He was transfixed in those shiny green eyes. There were these unreadable emotions; fear, surprise, suspicion, and something that the American couldn't explain. Alfred F. Jones decided that he liked the colour of those eyes; they were alive and vivid, unlike any green shade he'd seen before. The American male also noticed the large, bushy eyebrows. The view made him chuckle silently and unconsciously, he leaned towards the shorter figure.

However, before the American spoke a word or opened his mouth the figure strode away swiftly, leaving a dazed American male to stare at the other's back and his ears which were turning into a vivid pink. It made his lips curl into a small smile.

Alfred walked inside towards the front desk. He smiled politely and asked about a guy named Hanatamago. The lady in the front desk giggled knowingly and stood up, leaving the American man. She went to the back and later arrived with another figure almost shorter than her; his eyes were bright aqua blue, hair tinted in an almost dirty blond with a white hat on, and the male was smiling tenderly.

"Why, hello!" a thick Finnish accent slipped from the male's lips. "You must be AwesomeHero50! Welcome to Művészet és Irodalom! I'm Tino Väinämöinen, your current boss! My pen name is Hanatamago! Nice to meet you!"

The American smiled brightly and shook the Finn's hand lightly in a friendly gesture. "Hello! My name is Alfred F. Jones! Digital artist at your service!"

The Finn made a gesture for Alfred to follow him to a small room where there was another figure. This time, the person was tall, well-built, and had this scary look planted on his face. It made his body rigid all of the sudden. Tino, noticing the sudden stiff movements coming from Alfred, smiled gently; assuring that the man across the room won't harm anyone.

Smiling nervously, the American defied his fears and sat facing the scary male. "This man," Tino patted the latter's shoulder gently. "Will be your second boss. His name is Berwarld Oxenstierna."

"H-hello," the American blond stretched his hand nervously, cursing mentally for stuttering in front of his new boss.

"H'llo. N'ce t' m't y', s'r Jon's." The male—who Alfred guessed was a Swede—responded to the hand and shook it lightly. Alfred noticed light sapphire orbs behind the glasses; this man almost looked like his uncle with that hair!

"Please, don't address me as 'sir' or whatsoever formal names!" the bubbly blond smiled, waving his hand slightly. "Just call me Alfred. I am your employee after all!"

The Finn smiled sweetly while the latter remained stone-faced. Tino began explaining about the book he'll be illustrating. He took the book and examined it. The cover was glossy; it showed a picture of a young girl with a long pale auburn hair riding a unicorn. The painting was dark, but it was absolutely bright at the same time. 'How peculiar,' he thought solemnly. 'I've never seen a painting like this for years. The last time I saw it was the time when my auntie sold it.' He smiled faintly, a nostalgic feeling from the past surfacing.

"What do you think about the painting, Alfred?" The Finn snapped him from his recollection.

"O-oh! Sorry. I was distracted," he smiled sheepishly. "I like the cover. The painting looks incredibly beautiful and gives you the shivers!" he pointed at the glossy cover. He paused for a moment to read the story's synopsis at the back. 'Dawn of Dreams,' he read it in his mind. The title was printed in large size—the font was probably Chopin Script, as he guessed it—and the artist was quite interested in the story despite the fact that he didn't really believe in fairies or other mystical creatures. "The story seems interesting. Who's the author?"

"Arthur Kirkland," Tino answered while taking a few pieces of paper from a blue folder. "This is his… um… mansion," the editor showed him a paper with photos of the house and the description. 'What the hell? This is where the author lives? He must be a good one! A bestselling author!' The digital artist perused the picture, imagining what it'll be like for him to live there. "And of course, being his illustrator, you'll be moving to his h—mansion permanently."

At the mention of permanent, the photographer's ears perked, eyes widened. "Really?"

"Well, of course! And besides, the place has some spare rooms. You don't have to worry. The whole household is very nice. Although," the Finn tapped his chin a few times, trying to remember something. "You probably have to be careful with a tall Russian guy named Ivan. He's pretty scary," then he showed another paper with a familiar figure. His blue eyes glued itself into the emerald orbs.

"It's… him…." He mumbled unconsciously.

"Oh?" Tino raised his brow. "You recognize him?"

"N-no," the blond illustrator mumbled. "I don't know who he is."

"H's Art'r K'rkl'nd, Alfr'd." The Swede fixed his thin glasses.

"H-he is?" the illustrator flushed slightly, pinkish hue adorning his cheeks transparently.

"Yes. He's been working with us for 2 years, and I must say, he's quite a sarcastic man!" the Finn chirped lightly, as if talking about a nearby clothes sale. "Just don't insult his cooking, Alfred. He's extremely touchy about the subject," the shorter pale blond male giggled before taking out a few keys. "This will be your entrance keys. Use the silver key to enter your room, while the gold one is for the front door. You use bronze to enter the back door in case the front door is locked. The black one is for the gate."

"Okay, then. When will I move?" The American illustrator eyed the keys, admiring their colours.

"I have no idea about that. You should probably call the house and ask if they still have some spare rooms available. After that, you can contact me and Berwarld. Here's our phone number." The Finn editor gave him a small piece of paper with numbers and names written in messy and hurried gesture.

"Okay! Thank you, Tino, Berwarld."

* * *

He reached his apartment and threw himself onto the bed. The American male slapped himself for doing something so stupid. Love at first sight? How preposterous! There is no such thing! But… if that kind of love never exists, then why did he ask for Arthur Kirkland's profile from Tino? 'It's curiosity. I'm just curious about the author. There's no infatuation there.' He reasoned in his mind.

It was true that when he met the British male earlier he felt this kind of warm, tingly spark in his chest, but he shrugged it off. On the other hand, he couldn't ignore how beautiful those India green orbs are. The illustrator couldn't forget those shiny eyes, the way it sparkled under the sun, and how it looked at him questioningly. Not to mention the thick eyebrows above it. The blond illustrator admitted that he was studying the author the first time. How small his jaw was, how his sandy hair ruffled softly from the breeze, how his cheeks flushed darkly, and how gentle those lips were. The last detail made him curious as to how it would feel like if he were to kiss the lithe British author.

'What the hell?' he thought blushing dark crimson. 'I'm straight! I like girls! Well, okay maybe not really…. But there's no way that I'll date that old author! He's—he's old!'

He kept giving himself reasons why he shouldn't date the author, but failed miserably until point number three. The photographer groaned lazily and stood up to reach his cell phone in his backpack and a paper of Arthur Kirkland's profile. Alfred skimmed the paper for the mansion's number and began pressing buttons.

Alfred kept waiting on the line. There's a few recurring beeps before someone picked the phone up on the other line and asked, "Hello?"

"Hello, is this Arthur Kirkland's residence?" The American illustrator dropped the piece of paper and pressed the loudspeaker button.

"Yes, it is. May I help you?" The thick British accent echoed through the room.

"Can I talk to him? This is an urgent matter." 'Well, not really.' He added silently in his mind.

"I am Arthur Kirkland. Who is this?"

Alfred's breath caught in his throat. He could felt his heart hammered in his chest, almost like exploding. "I-I'm Alfred F. Jones," he slapped himself mentally for stuttering twice. "Your illustrator?"

"Ah, yes. Someone has told me about you," the voice seemed to grow into a softer, warm tone. "I've spared you a room next to mine. When will you be moving?"

Ah, yes, of course. He had to organize those five boxes again and sort them out. Or maybe just tricked his motorcycle. The American illustrator smirked at the thought.

"I will be moving today, I think." Alfred answered, his index finger tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"So soon?" there was a silent pause and the taller male was about to retort something when the author responded, "Eh… uhm… I-I mean… it's okay. It doesn't really matter, though. Did Tino give you the directions?"

"Yes, he did. I'll be arriving at evening. I have to sort out my things," the blond illustrator ruffled his hair. "Oh, and would you mind helping me with my stuffs? I definitely can't carry them all."

The American could feel the smile from across the line. "Certainly."

* * *

_Noticing the time, the author quickly shifted from his sleeping position and took his manuscript, ran downstairs, and muttered a quick, "I'm going out!"_

_The Brit strolled to the backyard to retrieve his lime green bicycle and cycled out from the large, elegant baroque mansion. Mornings were the time when he enjoyed cycling the most. The air was still fresh and cool, unlike the afternoons or evenings. Arthur noticed a few familiar people during his cycling to the company; he saw the little kids who usually play in the park, the old lady who sat on the bench in front of the flower shop, and a Scottish kid with carmine hair selling newspapers._

_The British author stopped by a small shop where its window was always open in the morning and one of the employees will serve him a hot tea or vanilla steamer. Today he saw Leslie, the Norwegian woman, sitting near the window, staring absent-mindedly at the sky while blowing a trail of smoke from her lips. The tall, shiny blond woman noticed Arthur's presence, and served him a hot Chrysanthemum tea. The younger blond muttered a quiet thank you and took the carton glass away and left a few cents, waving a small goodbye at Leslie who smiled back and winked._

_Arthur kept cycling through the streets and found a certain avenue he was looking for eventually. A grin was plastered on his face as he cycled faster towards the building where his imaginations were acceptable and society loved it so. When he saw the security in the main gate, he gave his usual smile and put his bike near the security post._

_He ran inside the main building, not bothering to take the elevator and opted for a stairway. The sandy blond author preferred an exercise rather than being suffocated inside that small space. The short Brit finally reached the fifth floor where Estevan usually works. He found the Cuban male was reading a manuscript rather earnestly; he didn't have the heart to disturb the older man._

_However, the dark skinned male did notice Arthur's presence and beckoned him to approach. "Arthur! Man, am I glad to see ya! I was wondering when you will come over. These manuscripts are getting boring!" The brunette male patted his back quite harshly, and he smiled nevertheless; the Cuban was his friend after all._

"_And I saw you reading that manuscript pretty seriously," the author chuckled and placed his manuscript on top of his stationery drawer._

"_Are you joking? I was practically glaring at the manuscript!" the reader laughed. "Anyways, have you met your illustrator?"_

_The blond Brit raised his thick eyebrow. "Illustrator? I've never heard of such thing."_

"_What?" this time, Estevan's brown eyes widened. "Didn't Franes—or whatever his name is—tell you anything?"_

"_Tell me what?" He questioned back, getting confused and a little panicked._

"_Your bestselling book—Dawn of Dreams—is going to be illustrated! By this awesome guy," the older man sat down and clicked his pearl mouse a few times. "AwesomeHero50! He's just awesome. Berwarld even stared wide-eyed at this guy's page!"_

_Arthur didn't respond. He stared at the green page; especially at the illustrator favorite art entitled 'Soul Mate'. It was a picture of two males standing in a separate way; one was a bright blond man and the latter was a sandy blond. Both of their little fingers were linked with a glowing red string. Looking at the sandy blond figure, it reminded him of himself. A slight blush surfaced on his cheeks. His soul mate is a man? Could it be? Well, he had never found a decent girl to marry or date with. Maybe it's their personality? Or how they use so much makeup nowadays? But honestly, it would be really nice to settle down with someone. He was fine with both genders, though. It doesn't matter; as long as they could take care of each other._

_After staring for quite a long time at the page, he left the floor. He met Michelle while the Seychellois was holding a few trays of coffee and offered him one. He rejected the offer softly and said he wasn't fond of the drink. Later, Arthur talked with the woman at the front desk. Arthur once had a crush on her but she seemed to be the independent type and a little bit self-centered. After sharing a few stories, he proceeded to walk out from the door and saw a pair of deep sapphire orbs._

_The eyes reeled him in intensely. Those orbs were just… beautiful. It was tinted in sea blue, but there's a tint of the sky and freedom. It gave him the shivers. Where was this male from? He was probably not British or anywhere around Europe. His green orbs trailed towards the bright golden hair. It shone brightly under the sun and was almost like glowing. The author was interested in this one strand of hair that seemed to defy gravity. Then his eyes trailed back to those blue orbs again. Oh! The tall figure wore glasses! How did he miss that? Maybe it was the clear shade of blue he saw that made him miss the glasses. _

_Arthur noticed the taller male scooting closer to him and he swiftly strode away, feeling his cheeks heating. He kept walking towards his bike. The security questioned him if he was alright and not having any case of fever. "I'm alright. It's just a little bit warm today." He reasoned and cycled away, the face of the unknown man printed on his mind._

He jolted and sat up, cheeks flushing. The image of the anonymous male appeared again in his nap. This had been his second attempt at taking a nap without a disturbance. Apparently, his only disturbance was his overactive imagination. He had seen the male earlier this morning, secretly hoping that they would meet again. The male looked charming after a few curses and a few sentences of denials; he admitted it at the end.

The author looked down at his paper; messy handwritten words jumbled into sentences. Arthur reread his previous sentence to check if he wrote correctly before he drifted to sleep.

**He slipped and predicted himself to fall from the cliff. All his efforts were terribly wasted. As he closed his eyes, he hoped for his faerie friends to be there and helped him.**

**However, he didn't fall, instead feeling a tight grip on his wrist, holding him in place. The unknown figure pulled him, making him to land onto the figure that he figured was a male. When he fluttered his eyes open, he was forced to meet a pair of bright blue orbs, glistening under the sunlight. Flushing at their current inappropriate position, he quickly scrambled away but was constrained to stay.**

Flushing like he wrote so on the paper, he quickly scrawled random shapes to block the paragraphs, so people won't be able to read it. Pinching his nose in annoyance, the British blond sighed heavily and decided to just sleep his annoyance away. It probably wouldn't work, because every time he tried to go to sleep, he would dream of being with the unknown blonde. The feeling was frightening and exciting at the same time, but he was afraid. Afraid of the possibility that he will miss him and fall in love with him.

Arthur rolled on his bed and reached his cell phone. He skimmed through his contact list to find Tino's name and texted him about the illustrator. Grabbing his olive green iPod, he put the iPod into shuffle mode and began listening to the first song.

And the damn song was making him skip a beat.

It was Donovan's damn Sunshine Superman.

It wasn't literally romantic in some way, but still… it made him feel all tingly and giddy. He survived through the song and kept imagining what would be like for him to date the man. The author could only redden darkly and gritted his teeth in annoyance. For the umpteenth time that day.

A knock woke him from his contemplation and put his iPod away. He smiled at the Italian who opened the door; it was the sweet, innocent Feliciano Vargas. "Hello, Arthur, ve," he sang and waved his hand. "There's someone looking for you! He said that he's your illustrator?"

The British author promptly strode downstairs and found the white Canadian door open to reveal a familiar figure he met earlier.

Both of their eyes widened simultaneously. Alfred F. Jones was thinking that this wasn't even possible and Arthur Kirkland was thinking that this male couldn't be his illustrator. The British author involuntary slammed the door into the American's face, planting a confused look at Alfred's face. He clutched his shirt, closing his eyes, feeling the rapid heartbeat ramming his ribs. How…? He was wondering, thinking that this was a dream; a man that he had been thinking of all day was standing at the doorway with his charming smile.

After calming himself with a few breathing, he shakily opened the door; green orbs were looking away from the sapphire ones. Nevertheless of the author's weird behavior, Alfred smiled brightly. "Hello!" he greeted, stretching his arms. "You must be Arthur Kirkland! I'm Alfred F. Jones, your illustrator. Nice to meet you!"

Still avoiding eye contact with the latter, Arthur took his hand and shook it lightly, feeling the warmth spreading through his body. He tried to compose himself by coughing, but he felt it only worsen the awkward air. "'Ello. Yes, I'm Arthur Kirkland. A pleasure to meet you too, Alfred," the Briton smiled, red hues dusted his cheeks. "Oh! Let me help you with your stuff. You seem to be carrying a lot."

Alfred smiled at Arthur's attention and memory; he did say that he needed help with his stuff. He had five boxes to carry and he'd die if he had to carry it by himself. The author gestured him to follow to the living room and told him to wait there while he went to the kitchen. Alfred looked around the place and whistled silently at the view. It was all pure, pristine white. The design of the house was a mix of baroque medieval and minimalistic. It was a strange mix, but it was still beautiful.

His glassed cerulean orbs landed onto Arthur's figure. The blond male was carrying a set of tea. He put it down as he sat across Alfred and gracefully poured over the brown liquid. Alfred tried his best to not gag at the smell; it was utterly horrible.

"Have some tea. I trust that you must be exhausted after your journey, yes?" he smiled and slid the cup of tea. "Here's a Chamomile tea. It will make you relax."

With a nervous smile, the illustrator gulped down the tea. He felt his tongue burnt at the taste as well as the heat of the transparent brown liquid. Alfred couldn't handle things like this and he chocked and squirted the tea, unknown to him that the remains of the liquid that he squirted hit Arthur's face directly.

After nursing his tongue and looking at the sight before him, he laughed. Arthur suppressed his scowl as he heard the resounding glee. He angrily stood up while Alfred kept waving his hand repeating the word 'sorry' but his laughter still rang in the air. Feeling his patience shortening, he straddled the younger male's lap and pulling his collar repeatedly while cursing him in Gaelic. Even so the American illustrator still grinned widely and tried to muffle his laughter.

However, unknown to them both, ten pair of eyes were watching in a knowing smile at their faces.

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_A/N: This is beta-ed by MegaUnknownxx aka Lauren! Thank you, Lauren! The Donovan's Sunshine Superman still crack me every time I read it. XD **Review please!** :)_


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